Prince's Tavern
by Teglan
Summary: "Loki has always been one for mischief," Fandral had said. Oh, how right he was. Alternatively: Loki tricks Thor into looking like an idiot in front of a pretty lady. Chapter 2: Bar Fight! [Pre-Thor - Rated for minor curse words]
1. Mustache Mead

Title: Prince's Tavern

Description: "'Loki has always been one for mischief,' Fandral had said. Oh, how right he was. Alternatively: Loki tricks Thor into looking like an idiot in front of a pretty lady."

* * *

It wasn't unusual— before the ill-fated trip to Jotunheim, the realization, the heartbreak— to find the two Asgardian princes at the bar together in the local taverns of Asgard, drinking the night away. Well, Thor would drink. Mostly, Loki would sip one ale all night long, for he did not care for the dulling effects of alcohol on his wit. One pub that they often frequented even had the pluck to change its name to "Prince's Tavern" in honor of their patronage. Thor was elated; Loki was embarrassed.

It was on one such night at Prince's Tavern, as Loki was getting to the bottom of his glass (a bit early, actually. He must have been thirsty), that Thor spotted a beautiful maiden enter the pub with a few friends.

"Loki," he said as he nudged Loki with his elbow a bit too hard. Loki, who was taking a swig of his ale, choked on the amber liquid and sent Thor a nasty look.

"_What_?" he snapped, dabbing a bit of ale off his mouth with his sleeve, since there were no napkins in the place.

"That woman is stunning," Thor answered, not taking his eyes off the woman, who was now ordering a drink with a charming smile.

Loki looked at her discretely. She had long, curly blond hair and blue eyes, with pink lips and an attractive face. Her dress was pure white and she wore a necklace in the shape of a pentagram. She was indeed beautiful, but she was Freya after all. Thor might not know, but Loki would recognize that necklace, Brísingamen, anywhere, and Freya never let it out of her sight.

"She is," Loki agreed simply, hoping to end the conversation quickly. Unfortunately, Thor had no such plans.

"Do you suppose she might like to sit with us?" Thor asked.

"She might. Odr might not."

"Who?" Thor asked, finally turning away from Freya and back to Loki.

"Odr," he repeated. "You know, large fellow, thick blond beard, rather intimidating but hardly ever around?"

Thor looked at him blankly.

"Freya's suitor?" Loki tried again. "Really, Thor, you should pay more attention."

"I shall ask her to join us!" Thor declared, completely ignoring Loki's warning.

"This isn't going to end well," Loki muttered. The bartender was watching them with amusement while he dried a glass.

Thor looked at Freya, took a hearty draught of his mead, then looked at Loki, his confidence waning. "How do I look?"

Loki opened his mouth to speak, but was caught by the sight of the enormous foam mustache that had seated itself on Thor's upper lip. A lesser man would have defecated his pants laughing at how absurd he looked in that moment, but Loki was strong. Still, his whole body gave a little spasm at trying to contain the hilarity.

"Thor, you have…" He began, voice thick with laughter. He cut himself off as a devious thought crossed his mind.

"I have what?" Thor prodded, frowning a bit.

_By the Norns, it even turns up a little bit at the corners._

"You have… as good a chance as anyone else," Loki finished, keeping his voice steady. "More even, since you are a prince after all."

"You're right," Thor agreed, "I'm going over!"

He stood with newfound determination and walked over to Freya's table. The bartender and Loki shared a glance. The bartender's look seemed to say, "You should tell him." Loki finally allowed a broad grin to spread across his face, which obviously replied, "Not a chance." He took the last gulp of his drink and turned in his chair to watch the show.

"Excuse me," Thor was saying, "Freya, isn't it?" His naturally loud voice made it easy for Loki to hear him, even from where he was at.

Freya was just turning to face him as Thor began in what he must have thought was an seductive voice, "I was just noticing how beautif—"

Freya cut him off by expelling her mouthful of honey mead straight on the ground, the whole table breaking into uncontrollable laughter. Thor looked affronted, then his face turned cherry red as he demanded, "What!? What are you laughing at!?"

Freya tried to answer him twice, only to be struck wordless by the sight of him. Too overcome with giggles to answer, she merely rubbed her index finger over her own lip meaningfully, before breaking down into some of the most unladylike cackling Loki had ever heard.

Speaking of Loki, it was probably time to beat a hasty retreat.

Thor pressed a finger against his lip in confusion. It came away foamy, and he whipped around to see his mustachioed reflection in one of the metal canisters the bartender used.

Utterly embarrassed, Thor wiped the mustache away with his sleeve. When had that happened? The last time he took a drink was right before—

Loki.

"LOKI!" Thor bellowed, looking back to where his brother had been sitting. The chair was empty, the trickster gone. The door to the pub was swinging, and Thor was sure he could hear a distant cackle coming from outside. He charged out the door, hefting Mjolnir high and roaring like an angry bilgesnipe.

Loki calmly returned to his seat, never having actually left the pub. He knocked on the counter with his fist and told the bartender, "I'll have what he was having."

The bartender looked at where Thor had exited—his bellow of rage could still be heard— then back to Loki. "Shouldn't you…?" He made a vague sort of gesture.

Loki raised an eyebrow at him, vibrant green eyes daring him to finish his thought. "'Shouldn't I…?'"

The bartender hesitated, then just shook his head and went about pouring the mead.

"Loki!" Thor cried in victory as he swung the door of the tavern wide open.

"Shit!" Loki cried, dodging a lightning bolt. It struck the chair he had been sitting in and left it black and charred. After a few dodges he managed to slip past Thor and out the door, laughing and cursing the whole way. Naturally, Thor was in hot pursuit, and their quickly fading cries left the pub feeling very quiet and empty. Freya's table was still giggling softly, but for the most part the tavern paid very little attention to the exchange. It was pretty normal for those two.

The bartender looked at the drink he had poured for Loki. The same kind as Thor had been drinking, but as of yet untouched. He casually took the glass himself and took a drink, coming away with a magnificent horseshoe mustache. He wiped it away with an impish grin. The structural repairs were a pain, but mustache mead was just so much fun.

What? He had to keep himself entertained somehow, right?

* * *

I also have an idea for Loki being a BAMF in a bar fight. Anybody interested?


	2. Bar Fight!

Title: Prince's Tavern

Description: "'Loki has always been one for mischief,' Fandral had said. Oh, how right he was. Alternatively: Loki tricks Thor into looking like an idiot in front of a pretty lady. Chapter 2: Bar Fight!"

* * *

It was important in Asgard to know exactly how each person handles their alcohol in order to avoid… unpleasant situations.

Fandral is a flirty drunk, which Loki differentiates from happy drunks by the repeated attempts to sleep with anything that draws breath and—on one occasion involving a psychologically scarred column with a drawn-on face that was totally not Loki's fault—some things that don't.

Volstagg hugs everyone in a non-sexual, still-completely-awkward-to-anyone-who-isn't-drunk, way and declares himself everybody's best friend. Loki can't hate him for it as much as he'd like. It must be the beard. So fuzzy.

Freyr and Freya come together. They don't drink a lot usually, but when they do, Freyr whines about everything and Freya starts bawling in the corner. I don't know why I mention; nobody really gives a damn about them anyway.

Sif, oddly enough, becomes 100% more charming and likeable. She is friendly and funny, and Loki could not find that more terrifying. She also occasionally wants to jump off Bifrost and "see what happens," or see if the Sons of Muspell would like to play horseshoes.

Hogun goes to sleep. That doesn't sound that interesting, but Loki would be fascinated to learn how he got on top of the chandelier, on the roof of the palace, or completely buried in tomatoes (not a single one was bruised).

Heimdall will f***ing kill you. He's under strict orders to never ever drink again. Ever. As someone that Heimdall particularly doesn't like, Loki can attest to how very, very good of an idea this is.

They told Loki that he was a philosophical drunk. That wouldn't be so bad, except that he was also rendered incapable of keeping a secret. At the time of his first drunken venture, he had been planning to convince Thor that Mjolnir had been stolen and trick him into dressing up like a lady. Naturally, that plan failed once he started discussing the psychological ramifications over his fifth flagon of ale.

By flagon seven he is led to believe he was curled in the fetal position, weeping uncontrollably about not being loved, the imminent doom of Ragnarok, and global warming ("The polar bears, Thor! The _polar bears_!").

By flagon nine (how had he managed to drink two in the fetal position? One of life's many mysteries) they… well, they called his mother. It was not one of his better moments. Since then, he rarely has more than one ale a night, but tonight he was feeling rather depressed, and was on his third.

You might notice that someone is missing from this list. Hm… who could it be now? Let's see, Fandral, Sif…

Well, of course it's Thor; do you think I'm an idiot or something? I leave him for last because his reaction is the most relevant to the story being told. That's right; there is a madness to my method.

So, anyway, Thor was a happy drunk, not a violent one. Unfortunately, when Thor is happy, he fights. Alternatively, fights make him happy. It was rather a conundrum. Yes, a real chicken-or-the-egg scenario, as they say. Loki didn't like eggs. He didn't like chickens, either.

Hm… Maybe Loki ought to stop drinking now. We don't want another "polar bear" incident. He set his drink down (only half finished) and pushed it away. They were in Prince's Tavern, except it wasn't called Prince's Tavern at that point. It was still called… some stupid dragon thing. Dragon Tooth? Dragon Fang? Something like that.

Anyway, with Thor being _Thor_ and alcohol doing what it does, a bar fight was really rather inevitable. The opponent tonight was a brutish-looking man who somehow managed to stand half a head taller than the Thunder God. He had a brown beard and the shiniest head Loki had ever seen. It was rather distracting, actually, and he could see Thor's attention drift to it every once in a while as well.

Loki sighed upon hearing the beginnings of the fight. He looked at his half-remaining drink and contemplated finishing it anyway, despite the potentially embarrassing situations it could bring.

Punches were flying, along with glasses, pitchers, chairs, and—was that a table? Thor had left Mjolnir at the castle, but he was still rather fond of throwing things at his opponents, even without it. The bartender, a thin Vanir and predecessor to the mustache mead guy, watched with a pained look on his face as the fight commenced. Loki imagined he was calculating the chances of his pub coming out of this in one piece. They weren't good.

Loki reached out, and tugged sharply on the bartender's sleeve, displacing him a step or two. A loud crash behind him sent the poor man to the floor, and he looked back in horror at the shards of glass where his head had been a moment ago. He stared at Loki in astonishment, but Loki merely snatched a peanut from the little dish and popped it into his mouth. A second later, Thor grabbed the dish and started to pelt his opponent with peanuts, prancing around the room in a rather unmanly fashion.

Thor was definitely not allowed to fly home.

The opponent roared—not nearly as drunk as Thor and quite angry besides—and unsheathed a sword from his hidden scabbard. Thor frowned, seeing that this man was not going to play by the rules, or the rules as Thor saw them. Using a weapon against an unarmed adversary was a big no-no.

"Play fair, you... you... villain!" Thor lifted his arm and called out mentally for Mjolnir. Wow, wasn't it here yet? This was taking, like, forever.

The man took a menacing step forward. Just as his whole body coiled back to lunge at Thor, a voice behind him called out, "Another!" and something heavy and glass broke against the back of his head, amber liquid trickling down between his eyes. His eyes, now that I mention them, rolled to the back of his skull, and he fell in a twitching, uncomfortable-looking heap on the floor.

Loki gazed at the fallen warrior and said, without any real remorse, "Whoops."

Thor blinked, then laughed and dropped his arm, cancelling his giant hammer order.

"I think we've had enough for the night," Loki addressed the terrified bartender, who looked as though he might need a change of shorts, "Good evening."

"Wait, brother!" Thor said too loudly, as Loki was barely two feet from him. "What shall we do with thish… this… curl!? He must be shown proper humish—muli—humiliashion!"

"I think you mean 'cur,' and he shall awaken in his own blood… and drool," Loki added, seeing the way the man's mouth gapped open in his unconsciousness, "defeated, you will remember, by a half-empty flagon of mead. Is that not punishment enough?"

He silently congratulated himself on how totally not tipsy he sounded.

"Not for the dishhonor he has bringded upon the houshe of Odin!" Thor declared, staggering.

Loki contemplated that for a moment. "What did he do?"

Thor paused, "I—he—it wasn't—He dishonored me, do you not lishen!?"

After a moment (a moment longer than a sober Loki would've taken), realization crossed Loki's face, and he reached up with both hands to press them against his eyes. "Thor… please tell me this is not one of those times when you overreact to something completely innoshent." Whoops. Oh well, Thor was too drunk to notice that last slur.

"No, brother! I do not remember what he said, but if was off—offensh—it was mean, indeed! And _when_ have I ever done such a thing?" Thor asked, seemingly insulted.

"Aw…" Loki sighed, crouching down next to the unconscious man (he only wobbled a little) and poking his temple lightly. The man didn't so much as twitch. "Now I feel bad for hitting you with my alcohol. I could've drank that."

"When have I overreacted?" Thor insisted.

"How about that time you were convinced that Volstagg and Fandral were lovers because they shared a congratulatory hug?"

"… 'Twas a long hug."

"No, it wasn't. Besides, Volstagg hugs everybody."

"When he's drunk! Sober men don't hug!"

"_You_ hug _me_."

"That is different!"

"Uh-hu."

"It is!"

"Right."

There was a long silence.

"What about the story you kept telling people, that I slept with a horse?"

"Oh, but that was not due to mis—to mis—understanding! You honestly think I believed such a thing? The Lady Shif and I _created_ that shtory to get back at _you_ for cutting her hair off!"

Loki pouted, "S'not funny; that one stuck."

Thor laughed drunkenly as they exited the pub and began the walk home, leaving devastation in their wake as usual. The bartender went back to Vanaheim, where he claimed the ongoing civil war was preferable to the hazards of life in Asgard. The next bartender didn't last a week before promptly disappearing. They found him on Midgard, pretending to be a polar bear.

Valhalla knows where he got that idea.

* * *

OK, I guess that's the end. I had a hard time ending this one. I hope you guys like it. =)


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